


Defending Peter

by MsWinghead



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Defending Jacob au, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Parent Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, SHIELD, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Superfamily, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is a lawyer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23452912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsWinghead/pseuds/MsWinghead
Summary: When Steve Rogers receives a call saying that his son Peter is being charged with murder, he asks for help from his friend Natasha to find a lawyer to help him release his son.  She then sends the best lawyer she knows: Tony Stark.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 36
Kudos: 64





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! After that Defending Jacob trailer and seeing many incredible edits of Steve and Tony as lawyers trying to save Peter from an accusation and no one listening to our prayers, I thought a lot and decided to venture into writing it. They say that authors secretly write what they would like to read, right? Well then. Here I go to try writing not only what I would like to read, but what some friends also want. And that's a huge responsibility, which makes me scared to death. But I will try anyway.  
> So, let's go, right?
> 
> (UPDATE: I'm not dead after all, guys! I promise you I'm still writing this one, and I'm planning on posting next month, which is December. It's been a while, I know, and I appreciate your patience! I'll be back!)

When the phone rang that afternoon, it could be just another phone call by mistake, someone else trying to sell something he didn't need, or just Natasha or Sam calling to say hi. But what Steve never imagined is that that call would forever change his life and his family's. Not that there was much family left to change. It was just him and Peter after Peggy, his wife, died five years before of fatal brain cancer. Cancer that followed Peggy for much of her life and, due to invasive treatments and extremely strong drugs, she couldn't have children, despite being her biggest dream. So they decided to adopt.  
And fate had been very generous to them, bringing them a beautiful boy, whose parents had died in a tragic accident. Initially, the boy had been placed in the custody of a couple of uncles. Unfortunately, the same luck that smiled for Steve and Peggy wasn't so friendly with the boy's family, since the uncle died in a robbery and his aunt, already old, shortly afterwards, of natural causes, leaving the boy alone.

"Not anymore," said Peggy, when she heard the social worker's story. "He is now our son." And so, Peter went home with them, fitting perfectly into their lives, as if he had always belonged there.

When Peter arrived, he was eleven years old. And even though he had every reason in the world to revolt himself and be a rebellious boy, he was always sweet, generous and extremely intelligent. The perfect son, with the warmest and most affectionate smile imaginable. So when Steve answered the phone, he thought it was a mistake.

"Mr. Rogers?" asked a male voice on the other end of the line.

"Yes, it's me."

"I am Chief Thaddeus Ross from the police precinct. Are you the father of Peter Benjamin Rogers?"

Steve's blood froze in his veins. "Yes, he is my son. What happened?"

"He's in custody, Mr. Rogers, charged with murder."

No, no, no, that was a mistake, right? It had to be. They couldn't be talking about the same Peter. "Mr. Ross, I'm sorry, but there must be some mistake," Steve's head was spinning and an insistent buzz had come to his ear.

"Mr. Rogers, there is no mistake. It was Peter himself who gave me your number as an ... _emergency contact._ And, if you don't mind, I believe it would be better to discuss this in person, here at the precinct," the Chief paused. "Maybe you would want to bring a lawyer when you come," and without saying anything else, he hung up. Like that. Cold-blooded.

Steve didn't count how long he held the phone to his ear, listening without listening to the mute of the line. The world was silent. Nothing made sense. His son, the kindest, most honest, smart and loving boy he has ever met, accused of murder. No, it couldn't be real. It wasn't real. Peter, his Peter, would never do such a thing. He needed to show that policeman that his son was being held unjustly. He needed to bring his son home, to protect him.

 _Lawyer_ , Chief Ross had said, _"Maybe you would want to bring a lawyer."_  
"But who?" Steve wondered aloud, startled by his own voice in the empty, silent house. He didn't know any lawyers. _I never needed any,_ he thought. But now he needed one. And as soon as possible, it was a matter of life and death. Steve frowned at the unintended pun. What an inappropriate moment ... _Where am I going to find a lawyer so fast?_ He was pacing up and down, not sure if he should run out and meet Peter at the police station or if he waited and tried to find a lawyer ... "Natasha! She will know where I can find a lawyer." With a racing heart, Steve dialed Natasha's number, which he knew by heart. Two rings later, she answered.

"Romanoff."

"Thank God, Nat. I need you."

"I know. I already heard the news," her voice was calculatedly neutral.

" _What?_ How did you already know? I just got the call from the Chief," Steve's head was in no shape to put together a coherent timeline at the moment, but that didn't make sense, even in the midst of that chaos.

"Steve, dear. I have my contacts," he could hear a condescending smile in her voice. "And that's why you called me, wasn't it?"

"Yes. I need a lawyer. The best you can find me to resolve this situation."

"Lucky for you, I'm always two steps ahead of you. I've already called a lawyer. He should be at your place in fifteen minutes. He's coming from New York just to answer your case."

"What? New York? Nat, what's the matter with Boston lawyers?"

"None of them are good enough. Not like him. And none of them owed me a favor. So, win-win."

"And how is he getting here from New York so fast?" Steve heard Natasha sigh, but she didn't respond right away. "Natasha, what do you know?"

He heard her sigh again. "You will hear all of this again from the Chief's mouth, but probably not in a nice way or with the right details. So, you better know by someone who cares about you and Peter. And know that I would rather be having this conversation in person. Talking on the phone sucks."

"I think so, too," Steve agreed, more to keep her talking than anything else. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like what he was going to hear.

"Well, Steve, Peter's arrest was the last step in a chain of events of an investigation that has been going on for some time. Look, earlier this year, a boy who was studying at the same school as Peter was killed, but no one could find the murderer. The case was covered up so that the panic wouldn't spread among the community and among the students. To this day, everyone thinks the boy has been transferred to another school because his parents have moved from the city, fearing the murderer will return and also the pain of not knowing who he or she is. But even after all these months the investigations haven't stopped. With each new lead, there was a new suspect. Until last week."

"Last week? What happened last week?" Steve asked, holding his breath.

"Last week they found a new clue, a very promising one," Natasha lowered her voice. "A DNA sample in good condition in the garage of the old family house. It was there that the boy's body was found. The police have been keeping it isolated since then."

"A DNA sample," Steve repeated automatically.

"Yes, a DNA sample. Which is compatible ... which is compatible with Peter's DNA."

Steve lost the strength of his legs and fell to the floor, but he felt no pain. Only nausea and emptiness. No, no, _no,_ it was just what his heart was screaming. Not his boy. No, please.

"Steve? Are you still there?" Natasha's voice was strange, as if she was choking on something.

"Yes, I am."

"Look, Steve, I know what it looks like, but I know it wasn't him. Peter would never do that."

"I know."

"Good. Keep this with you when the lawyer gets there. You will need faith to get through this."

"Nat?"

"Yes?"

"How did they know the DNA was his?"

"The school had voluntary DNA samples from all students from the biology classes. The police started investigating where they believed they were less likely to find a killer, which was where the boy had more friends. They ended up, in fact, finding what they were looking for, I think."

"But it's not true," Steve spoke softly. He had never felt so small in his life.

"I know it wasn't him. But his DNA at the crime scene complicates things, Steve. That's why I sent you the best lawyer I know. One of the best in the country. Talk to him, listen to what he has to say. He has experience in complex cases. And he promised me that he will stay as long as he needs."

"Okay," Steve was in automatic mode. Completely numb. They had his son's DNA at the scene of a crime, which was impossible, because his son wasn't a murderer. He needed to see Peter. Now.

"Hey, Nat?"

"Yes, Steve?"

"You didn't told me the n ..." He was interrupted by the bell. Steve looked at his watch and the fifteen minutes that Natasha had said would pass before the lawyer arrived had really passed. "I think I'll be able to ask in person. Never mind."

"What are you talking about, Steve?" Natasha asked, clearly confused.

"Don't worry, Nat. The lawyer is here."

"You're in good hands, then. I'll talk to you later, dear. Be well. I love you."

"Love you too," Steve hung up the phone and went to answer the door. He didn't know what he was expecting, but, well, it definitely wasn't that. "Hello?" Steve greeted, and frowned when the intonation was a question.

The man in front of him turned around completely, facing Steve and held out his hand. Steve held it and the two looked at each other for the first time. Steve was quick, but he was a good observer. The man had brown eyes, alive, large and curious, that stood out from the rest of his face. His mouth was well designed and he had full lips and, let's all be honest here, inviting. His hair was also a very dark brown, combed and parted carefully. And he was wearing the best-cut suit Steve had ever seen, giving the impression that the outfit and the man had been born together. And in the end, that unknown and disconcertingly handsome man smiled and Steve felt a shiver run down his spine.

"You must be Steve Rogers, right?" Steve nodded, not trusting his own voice.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Rogers. My name is Tony Stark and I am your lawyer."


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is here for us to know who are the side characters, what they do, and how exactly they are related to Steve and Peter.  
> Also this chapter is the start of Steve and Tony's relationship, in all the possible senses.
> 
> So, witness the beginning!
> 
> Hope you like it!

"Here, your coffee," Steve handed the cup of steaming liquid to the lawyer - _Tony_ \- sitting across the table.

"Thank you," the other smiled and took a sip of his coffee, regardless of the temperature. "It's great."

"Are you going to tell me now why I'm not on my way to the police station to meet my son?" Steve was more than angry. He was ready to go out and go straight to the police station to talk to that police chief, see Peter and, hopefully, get him out there. But then the lawyer appeared at his door, asked if he could come in, ordered a cup of coffee, and now the two were sitting facing each other, while Peter was waiting for him, certainly thinking the worst things possible. The lawyer - _Tony, damn it, I need to remember to call him by name_ \- put the cup down and looked at Steve.

"We aren't on our way to the police station because I need to know where I'm getting into."

Steve blinked. "I thought you knew."

Tony took another sip of his coffee. "I know that your son is being accused of killing a schoolmate and that he's being held in custody right now."

Steve frowned. "If you already know that, what do you still need to know?" He didn't understand. Wasn't that the crucial information there? Why the hell were they sitting around drinking coffee, like nothing was happening?

"I want to know about you," Tony looked at him and Steve moved in his chair, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the intensity of those extremely curious eyes that seemed to see inside him.

"What do you want to know?"

Tony shrugged. "Everything."

Steve opened and closed his mouth several times, but in the end he said nothing relevant.

"How about if I ask you some questions?" Tony asked, taking out a notepad and a pen from the briefcase he had brought. "Do you mind?" Steve shook his head. Tony smiled without showing his teeth. "Great. So tell me, Mr. Rogers, what do you do for a living?"

 _That I could answer without looking like an idiot,_ Steve thought. "Art. I draw. I paint some pictures sometimes, but most of the time I draw. And then I sell them," he looked at the man in front of him, who was looking back at him with a strange expression of recognition.

"Don't tell me you're the same Steve Rogers who signed the print that is hanging in my office in my apartment, back in New York!" Steve shrugged. "Okay, I won't say it."

"Unbelievable," Tony chuckled softly. "Well, Mr. Rogers, if I remember your biography correctly, you weren't always an artist, right?" Steve sighed, without much time to think about the fact that the lawyer - his lawyer - had one of his drawings.

"No, I wasn't always an artist. I was an Army Captain."

"And why did you stop?" Tony asked taking another sip of his coffee.

"Because my wife died and my son needed me."

"And when was that?"

"Five years ago."

"What did your wife die of?"

"Brain cancer. Extremely aggressive."

"I'm sorry. What did she do before?"

"She was an Army Sergeant."

Steve's voice was lifeless, without any emotion and he felt his face was the same as he faced the lawyer. "Aren't you going to write any of this down?" Steve pointed his head at the notepad.

Tony shrugged and tapped his pen on the temple. "I don't need it. Photographic memory and stuff. This one," he shook the notepad. "This is for something else that is beside the point now."

"And what's the point, Mr. Stark?"

"Does your son have friends?" Tony ignored Steve's question and tried to drink more of his coffee. Steve was amused by his grimace when he realized the coffee was gone.

"Yes, my son has some friends. Let's see," Steve started counting on his fingers. "There's Ned, the smart kid, Peter's best friend. He's always around here with Peter. There's also MJ, who is a friend slash girlfriend, but neither she nor Peter have realized it yet," Steve chuckled. "Well, and then there are my friends who are friends of his, too."

"And who are those friends?" Tony asked without changing his tone.

"There is Sam, who is my friend from the Army days, we started together and he is still there. There is Bucky, who is my childhood friend and who is married to Natasha, who you already know."

"She told me that I should take good care of you or I would regret it," Tony said with a raised eyebrow. Steve laughed through his nose, but felt his heart double in size for Natasha. _What would I do without her?_

"She's like a sister to me. I met her during one of my first missions as a soldier ... and, I'm sorry, but I can't say any more than that. It's classified," Steve frowned, apologizing. "What I can say is that we became close friends after that. So close that she's Peter's godmother. He loves her and I know she'll do anything for him."

"I could tell. Making me come from New York to take his case as a favor is not for everyone," Tony leaned over the table, crossed his fingers, and looked at Steve. "Very well, Mr. Rogers. I needed to know where I'm getting into. I like to know what kind of environment I'm going to be in and what kind of people I'm going to deal with. Believe me when I say I've dealt with all kinds of people and not all as kind and civilized as you are." Tony's gaze was penetrating but soft, looking for some reaction from Steve, who remained neutral. A life in the Army had taught him many things. To keep a poker face was one of them. "I already agreed to take over your son's case. I like cases like that, despite how wrong it sounds, I'm sorry. What I mean is that, as much as it seems that there is no way out, I can always find secret passages that nobody thought of looking for."

"And what does that mean exactly?" Steve leaned towards Tony instinctively, unaware of what his body was doing. It was a soft force, almost imperceptible, but one he didn't even think about resisting.

"Firstly, that means we're going to take your son out of custody," Tony said with a smile.

"How? The chief said they found ..."

"That they found Peter's DNA at the crime scene, yeah, I'm aware of that. But still, we go over there to talk to your son and the chief. In the meantime, I'm going to get Peter a habeas corpus. You know what that means, right?" Tony looked at him with doubt, as if suddenly Steve was a five-year-old kid.

"I was in the Army. I know most of these technical terms," Steve said rolling his eyes.

"Great. With Peter out of jail, we're going to prepare the next step in our defense," Tony smiled again, leaning back, satisfied with his reasoning.

"Okay, let's do it," Steve said simply.

Tony blinked at him. "Is that okay for you? You have nothing else to add or ... I don't know, to _complain_ about?"

Steve frowned. "Why would I complain?"

Tony shrugged, pretending not to care, but paying attention to Steve's every reaction. "Not all of my clients are so quick to accept everything I say. Most of them think they know how to do what I do after watching a few seasons of Suits and Law and Order, and start to make guesses and criticize my job before I even start. Having someone who just says 'okay' is ... well, unusual and ..." Tony smiled, but soon tried to hide, without much success. It was ... _cute._ "Well, thanks."

"Mr. Stark," Steve called, getting up from the table. "I have no reason to question your work. If Natasha sent you, then I have even less reasons," Steve walked around the table and went over to Tony, who had also gotten up. "I trust you, Mr. Stark."

"Tony."

"What?" Steve frowned.

"No _Mr._ Stark. Call me Tony," Tony smiled.

"Okay. As long as you forget to call me Mr. Rogers. I earn about seventy years for every 'sir' you say," they both laughed. It was easy.

"Okay, then. Shall we go see your son?"

Steve blew out a breath. "Yes, _please_ ," he must have made a face of panic or something, because Tony came over and put a hand on his shoulder and looked at him. Steve noticed the difference in height between them, the difference of a head, but it was ideal ... for something Steve couldn't name.

"Hey," Tony said. "Everything's going to be all right. We'll get him out of there. Your son will be coming home. I promise."

Steve nodded, because he didn't trust his own voice to say how much he believed what that stranger, who he wanted to know better, was telling him. Tony squeezed Steve's shoulder, calming him. "Come on, get yourself together. _Peter needs you._ And you can't show anything but strength when you get to that police station. They'll want to eat you alive and you can't let them know how scared you are. They feel the smell of blood. They're like hungry sharks. You have to be worse than them, understood?" Steve agreed. "Very well. How are we going to get there?"

"We can go in my car," Steve said, clearing his throat to get his voice out. They went out onto the porch and, while Steve locked the door, he noticed something that wasn't part of the decor.

"Is this yours?" he asked Tony, who had his back to him, already walking down the front steps.

Tony turned and looked at the suitcase Steve was pointing at. "Hmmm, yes. It's mine. I didn't want to take it inside your house if we were just going to talk about work. It didn't make sense."

It hadn't occurred to Steve that Tony would need a place to stay and that this place would probably be a hotel. "Where will you stay?" Steve asked.

Tony shrugged. "Any hotel with a good bed that is close to here will be fine."

"Do you want to stay here?" Steve asked without thinking. It just left, and then, when he really stopped to think, he didn't regret it. Tony looked at him for long seconds. Steve scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortable. "I mean, you don't have to spend on hotels. We have a very comfortable guest room here and it'll be our way of paying our share for your services," he tried to smile.

Tony was still silent and Steve could almost see his brain working, weighing the possibilities, the pros and cons. Finally, he looked at Steve. "I don't want to bother you any more than necessary."

"You won't," Steve said, maybe too quickly. _What the hell was going on with him?_ "The house is quite big. It won't be a hassle. Don't worry. In fact, it'll be nice to have company. We've been Peter and me for a long time. Another person will be nice."

"Are you sure?" Tony still didn't seem very convinced.

"Look, I understand if you don't want to accept it, but here you can have a normal stay, as if you were in your own home," Steve actually smiled this time. Tony looked away for a few seconds, then smiled and looked at Steve, who felt his heart racing. "Okay, then. I accept your guest room, Steve."

"Fantastic," Steve turned, unlocked the door and put Tony's suitcase inside, locking the door again. "Can we go now?" They got in the car and headed out towards the police station.

"Do you always get what you want that way?" Tony asked suddenly, after a few minutes of silence.

"What way?" Steve asked.

"Smiling," Tony replied, looking sideways at Steve.

Steve felt his face getting hot. "Only when I really want something." They were both silent, watching the Boston landscape pass through the car windows.

"I don't think it's going to work with a judge, right?" Steve asked at last.

Tony laughed. "It worked for me. So, nothing is impossible."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I know ... lots of talking, right? Sorry if you came looking for some action.
> 
> But, if I may, Peter's coming in the next chapter! Action is coming too, I promise :)


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family is finally reunited (even more than it looks like)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!
> 
> I'm so sorry for the delay. I know I told you I'd be posting every Wednesday, but life got complicated this week. Also, this is the longest chapter so far, with so many details and information ... I hope you liked it and that this chapter can make it up to my delay.
> 
> Enjoy Steve and Peter's reunion!
> 
> P.S.: Trigger Warning: the first part has a description of a panic attack. So, if this is sensitive content for you, feel free to start reading from "'Are you alright?' Tony asked quietly beside him."

As they headed for the police station, Tony stood on the phone with a person named Pepper, explaining Peter's whole situation, and trying to get her to help straight from Tony's office in New York. Steve tried to keep silent as much as he succeeded in, just paying attention to the conversation that, in a way, concerned him too, but even if he bragged before he knew most of the technical terms of advocacy, his brain almost overheated in the few miles between his house and the police station. When Steve turned a corner and then turned left again, he could see the police station just ahead, at the end of the street, and nudged Tony's arm, pointing to him their destiny approaching.

Tony apologized on the phone, said he would call later, and hung up, putting his cell phone in the inside pocket of his jacket. "So is it over there?" he asked.

"Yes," Steve said, trying to keep his voice steady. Now that there was so little left for him to see Peter, so that he could finally understand what was going on, his heart didn't look like his, his body didn't look like his. He was holding the steering wheel tightly, trying to find stability in something.

"And it looks like we have company." Steve blinked, returning to reality with Tony's voice, sounding almost too low, too sympathetic, without the note of intelligent sarcasm that Steve was already beginning to perceive as a characteristic of the lawyer. Steve looked to where Tony was pointing and felt his stomach sink and twist into a painful knot. The press was there. At least four channels, with their vans, cameras and reporters, holding their microphones as if they were melee weapons, capable of injuring as much as any other weapon.

Unconsciously, Steve slammed on the brakes, right in the middle of the street, and stared at the reporters, his heart pounding inside his chest, the ice expanding into his arms and legs, his mind emptying out completely, not at all thinking coherently, his lungs not expanding enough to accommodate the air that was trying to get in. Panic attack. _No. Not now._ But he was stuck. He couldn't get out of there. His hands were glued to the steering wheel, his foot on the brake and his mind empty and so full at the same time. Peter was so close, but those reporters couldn't get to him, right? But they already knew, didn't they? Everyone there already knew that his son, his boy, was inside that police station. No, his boy didn't deserve that.

"Steve? Hey, Steve?" a distant voice called. "Steve? Look at me." Steve felt that he was turning his head, but he was immersed in jelly, everything was happening in slow motion. Gradually a face came into focus. His mouth moved, his eyes - beautiful brown eyes, big, curious, bright and concerned - looked directly at him, framed by frowns of concern. Steve focused on the mouth that was still moving and tried to extract the sounds it produced, drowned out by the jelly that had taken over his world. "Steve? Please focus on me," said the mouth. "Okay? Do you understand me, Steve? I'm here, but I need to know if you're there," the mouth smiled an uncertain smile. It was a very persuasive mouth. Steve blinked and looked up again. So beautiful, the eyes. "Steve? Can you talk to me?" _Talk._ The eyes were full of expectation. So talking would make them happy. He could do that, right? _Talk._

"Hi," it was hardly a sigh, a whisper, but the eyes that stared at him shrank in the corners and shone beautifully. A smile. That was a smile. Steve searched his mouth and found white, aligned teeth appearing, framed by full, happy lips.

"Hi," Steve heard back. "I'm here. Do you know where it is?" Steve blinked. _Peter._ He was close to his son.

He swallowed. "I ... I'm going to see my son."

Another smile in those beautiful brown eyes. "That's right! And do you know who I am?" Expectancy. The eyes waited now, without smiling. Steve looked at the rest of his face, his nose straight and showing no signs of ever being broken, his mouth with full, inviting lips, his harmonious cheekbones, his skin naturally tanned, healthy looking, and his hair smooth and well combed. Steve felt his face twitching sideways, his lips showing his teeth, his eyes narrowing. A smile. He knew that face and liked what he saw.

"Tony," Steve's voice was hoarse, but he continued. "You are Tony Stark and you are helping me," he saw that Tony was smiling. His mind started to look like what he was used to again and the world to look less gelatinous. "You are my lawyer," Steve continued, because talking about Tony was apparently a good remedy for the panic to go away. "My _friend._ I _trust_ you." Tony's smile faltered, but it came back bigger than before and Steve's world cleared almost completely.

He blinked several times and tried to force the air into his lungs again. He was better, but not yet one hundred percent.

"I'm here and I'm here to help you. Are you feeling better?" Tony told him, getting his attention.

Steve assessed his own situation. His ears were no longer buzzing, his eyes were focused, and despite his racing heart and still be hyperventilating, he could tell he was in control of his own body. So he nodded. "I am."

"Great. So we need to park the car, okay?" Tony's voice was light, but Steve could see the forced nonchalance. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw that he had suddenly stopped in the middle of the street.

"My God, what happened?" Steve asked, feeling his heart race again.

"Hey," he felt his arm warm up. When looking at the heat source, he found Tony's hand holding his arm, comforting him, grounding him. "It's okay, nothing happened. No car came in that direction. It's okay," he must've seen the suspicion on Steve's face because he laughed softly. "It's true. We're just going to park now, because we don't have to rely on luck that long, right?"

Steve blinked a few times, returning to focus. "Sure. I'm going to park," Steve maneuvered the car in the nearest spot, turned off the engine and, without ceremony, rested his head on the steering wheel and took a deep breath.

"Are you alright?" Tony asked quietly beside him.

Steve sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, without looking up.

"What're you apologizing for?"

"For panicking, for stopping in the middle of the street, for putting us both in danger ... I'm sorry," Steve closed his eyes and listened to his heart hammering in his ear.

"Steve?" Tony called softly again. Steve didn't move. _"Steve?"_ the tone was a little more insistent. Steve turned his face to look at him. Tony's face had a funny expression. It was smooth, even sweet. His eyes were fixed on Steve, paying attention to every detail. "I'm not judging you, Steve. As you said, I'm here to help. To help _you._ "

"We just met, Tony," Steve sighed, embarrassed. "You are the lawyer who came to defend my son. You shouldn't have seen any of this, nor should you have been through any of this. It's not your job to help me during a panic attack," Steve hid his face at the wheel again.

"Steve, for God's sake, you can't be serious." Steve heard Tony sigh, exasperated. "I don't judge you for your panic attack because I myself have had the same problem for years." Steve suddenly raised his head and looked at Tony, but said nothing. He couldn't. "It's true," Tony said. "You can call Pepper and confirm, if you like," Tony shrugged.

"Pepper?" Steve swallowed. "Is ... is she your wife?" 

Tony laughed out loud. "Pepper and me married? Never! She's my associate. And my secretary. And my best friend. And the closest to a family I have. But, no. Not my wife. By the way," Tony paused dramatically and looked at Steve sideways. "I'm not even married."

"Oh," _very articulated, Steve, very articulated._

"The point is, I know what you're going through, I understand what it's like. And it doesn't matter to me if we've known each other for ten years, a month or a few hours ago. It's going to sound crazy, but I _liked_ you, Steve. I can't explain. But let me help you. Let me prove that I'm worth the trust you said you have for me."

"All right." What else could Steve say? The man had just said that he liked him, even though they had known each other for a few hours, that there was a connection, whatever it was. But it was a good thing. So, how to avoid that it was something, and to let that keep happening?

Tony smiled without showing his teeth and looked at the reporters, who still hadn't realized they were parked there. "Okay, we're going out now," he looked back at Steve. "Do you remember when I said that the people inside that police station are like sharks just waiting to smell your blood to attack?" Steve nodded in agreement. "Well then. Those over there," Tony pointed to the reporters at the police station door. "They're the vultures, waiting for the remains that the sharks will leave behind. But don't let them fool you," Tony became serious, his features hardened and all the smoothness from before disappeared, giving way to a new aspect of the lawyer, which left Steve with goosebumps and with the certainty that this wasn't a look that he liked to see in Tony. "Those vultures over there won't think twice about attacking by surprise if it means getting fresh news to present on the evening news. If shattering you means a career bonus, they won't wait for the shark's remains. They'll eat you up, right here, outside. Got it?"

"Yes," Steve agreed again, feeling his stomach churn.

"So, here's what we're gonna do," Tony took a pair of sunglasses out of the front pocket of his jacket and put it on his face. Steve couldn't help thinking about how well he looked like that. "We'll get out of the car and as soon as they realize who we are, who _you_ are, they'll come running, and they'll surround you with those microphones. They'll bombard you with questions and it'll be deafening," Tony checked the contents of his briefcase and put it on his lap. "The most important thing here is: don't answer any questions they ask, understand? It'll be extremely tempting, because you'll want to tell all of them that your son is innocent."

 _"But he is!"_ Steve said.

"I know, you know, but _they_ don't need to know that. Not now, at least. Not like that."

Steve must have made an expression of extreme defeat, because Tony took off his glasses and looked at him. The softness had returned and Steve's stomach twisted, but not in the nauseating way it had before. It was ... different. A good different. "If you answer their questions now, as much as you want to help your son, it'll do more harm than good. We know little yet. I said I'm here to help. Helping in this context also means advising. Follow my advice: get out of the car with your head held high, with the best Captain posture you can do, and pretend they’re not there. Don’t make eye contact, don’t talk to them, focus on your goal, which is go inside that police station to see your son. Did you understand?"

Steve took a deep breath. Captain's stance. He could do that. It was one of the few things he had never forgotten how to do. It was like riding a bicycle.

"Got it."

"Great," Tony put his glasses back on and prepared to get out of the car.

"Why do you think they're here?" Steve asked before opening his own door.

"Because it's your son in there," Tony said without changing his tone.

"Are they here because of _me?_ " Steve fought a choke.

"Steve, face the facts: you're a famous artist. The best new artist in the last decade, according to, well, according to a lot of art magazines and according to Pepper, who understands a lot about the subject and is the one who curates my private collection," Tony let out a low breath. "Everyone who knows art wants one of your drawings, and everyone who has never heard of art knows who you are. That is: everyone has known you since you appeared in the art world. And even if you weren't famous for drawing, you are a former US Army Captain. This is big. Huge. The son of an Army Captain being accused of murder? It's a full plate for those vultures."

Steve thought about what Tony had said. Of course, it made sense. Peter was being exposed because of him. And not in an slightly uncomfortable way, as you might expect being the son of someone with some reputation. He was being exposed in the worst possible way. And it was all his fault.

"Let's get this over with," Steve said, nausea threatening to take over. With a push, he opened the car door and let the cold Boston afternoon air hit him, and clear his mind enough that he could put one foot in front of the other to get where he needed to be: next to Peter. He walked around the back of the car and joined Tony, who looked extremely comfortable, totally in his element, with his sunglasses shining in the pale sun, his hair letting in the light breeze, without making him unkempt, or looking messed up in any way, but making him look like the owner of the scene.

"Shall we?" Tony asked with a half smile.

"Yes, we can," Steve said and the two started walking side by side in silence, towards to the entrance of the police station and the group of reporters. Just before they were noticed, Steve stopped, turning to look at Tony.

"Is there a problem?" Tony asked.

"Do you think we can get Peter home today?" Steve felt his heart race with anticipation.

"I'm trying to do that right now," Tony said. He made a face. "Well, _Pepper_ is trying that right now. Remember the habeas corpus I talked about before? So. She's preparing everything from New York, but we need more details, which we'll only get when we talk to the Chief."

"So is there a possibility that Peter will leave with us or not?" Steve wanted objectivity. The whole situation was already too complicated for him to still have to worry about subjectivities.

"I'm going to be honest with you, okay?" Tony looked at him, and Steve found it uncomfortable not being able to see the lawyer's eyes. "We may not be able to get him released today. We need a judge and we need this judge to accept our request for release. If they don't, well, there's a possibility that your son will stay here until we manage to reorganize and effectively get him out of here."

 _"My son can spend the night in here?!"_ Steve heard himself shout. The world was closing in on him. _No, no, no._ His boy. His precious and sweet boy. They couldn't leave him there. There had to be a way.

Tony reached out and took Steve by the shoulders, gentle but firmly. "Yes, he can. But we're doing everything we can to make sure that doesn't happen. Listen, Steve. You need to understand how much more the situation is than your son being in prison. He's under arrest being charged with murder. Do you understand how is that serious? _A person died,_ " Tony spoke softly and in a low tone, punctuating his sentences slowly, declaring them emotionless and practically, being, Steve realized, surprisingly for the first time since he had seen Tony for the first time, a real lawyer. "I know that he is your son and we know that he is innocent, and we will get him out of this situation. But know that in situations like this, even if we manage to get him out of here today or tomorrow, his case doesn't end so easily. Your son will only be acquitted if another piece of evidence comes up showing that he has nothing to do with the murder or if the real killer shows up and confesses," Tony released Steve and looked away. Steve was shaking. "You need to remember what it was like five years ago," Tony said suddenly.

"What? What do you mean?" Steve was confused. Five years ago he was a confused mass in mourning for Peggy's death trying to be strong for Peter. How could that help?

"You need to embody the Army Captain that still exists in you to get through this situation," Tony said, looking back at him. "You need to think of all this as a mission, as if they," he pointed in the direction of the police station. "As if they were your enemies and you needed to go through them during a secret mission, in which no emotion can escape from you. Artist Steve Rogers? With all his sensitivity and empathy? He needs to leave the scene now. You need to get back to be Captain Rogers, able to access your coldness quickly, if you want to go through all of this more or less unscathed."

"I-I don't know what to say," Steve was gaping. That had been the first time, since he decided to retire, that anyone had had the courage to tell him that he needed to resurrect the Captain who still lived inside him. He never imagined that one day he would need to return to the life he had left to care for Peter to, well, save Peter. But if that was the price, then he was willing to pay it. It didn't matter for how long it would be needed. He would be again, even if it was only for himself and for the sake of his son, Captain Steve Rogers, someone capable of intimidating generals.

"Don't say anything," Tony said. _"Be him again,"_ and he started walking towards the police station again.

Steve straightened his stance, tilted his chin up, and suddenly, he was no longer the artist, but the Captain, and then he followed Tony. And the effect was immediate. As if they were waiting for his internal transformation, the reporters recognized him and came running towards him, cameras on, with blinding reflectors and microphones aimed at him, like weapons. They screamed in a jumble of male and female voices, all trying to get his attention, but Steve focused his attention on Tony's back, who walked steadily ahead of him, and kept walking, pretending that the reporters were just mosquitoes who asked him insistently _"Mr. Rogers, is it true that your son is being accused of killing a schoolmate?"_ , _"Mr. Rogers, do you believe in your son's innocence?"_ , _"Mr. Rogers, do you think this may be a reflection of maternal absence?"_

They were really annoying mosquitoes, which stung and stung without mercy, and each question hurt like Steve's skin was raw. But he remained unyielding, always looking ahead, at Tony's back, with his face impassive, maintaining his best poker face. Until finally - _finally_ \- after what seemed like eternity, they managed to enter the police station, and the silence inside the building was almost deafening.

~

"We survived," Tony said, smiling, as he took off his glasses and put them inside his jacket pocket.

"Yeah, at the first obstacle," Steve said, unable to find Tony's excitement.

"Minus one, Steve. Minus one," Tony winked at him and turned, heading for a table, where a middle-aged woman was sitting at. Steve stood there, watching Tony walk away, while reliving the wink in his looping mind. His stomach followed the loopings and that was a welcome distraction after the press attack.

Steve shook his head. _That's not what I came here for._ He forced himself to walk over to Tony and swallowed when the lawyer's image came into focus. Tony was leaning on the table, chatting casually with the woman sitting behind it, and Steve could see every outline of his back, and he couldn't help looking down a little more and noticing how the suit Tony was wearing clung not subtly at all to his curves in the position he was in, accentuating everything ... and it was a beautiful set being accentuated. Tony could be a lawyer, but that didn't mean that what the suit was hiding was something to be thrown away. Nothing was left to the imagination, quite the contrary. In fact, a part of Steve was actually imagining. But he didn't even know what. He couldn't name what he felt, because, at that moment, he was feeling so many things that that feeling was one more in a whirlwind. Luckily for him, Tony straightened up and turned, coming towards him.

"The Chief is going to see us in a little while."

Steve blinked several times, returning to reality. He tried to smile, but he couldn't tell if it worked. "This is good, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's great. I'll finally get my hands on your son's prison papers and you'll be able to see him," Tony smiled. "It's now that things start to get interesting."

"Mr. Stark?" the woman Tony was talking to called. Tony turned. "The Chief is waiting for you," she pointed to the door to her left. Tony followed, and Steve went with him.

Tony knocked on the door three times and waited. "Come in," asked a voice from the other side of the door. Tony opened the door, and he and Steve entered a simple room, surrounded by cabinets and windows covered by horizontal blinds and, right in the middle of the room, a large table, covered with files, a monitor, a keyboard, a mouse and, behind all this, a man in his sixties, with a mustache and white hair, dark, serious eyes, framed by closed eyebrows, as if in constant concern, pursed lips, wearing a white shirt with the Boston and Massachusetts police insignia, a navy blue tie, and arms crossed in front of his chest.

Tony came over and held out his hand. "Chief Ross, nice to meet you, I'm Tony Stark," the two greeted each other. "And this is my client, Captain Steve Rogers," Tony pointed to Steve, who was taken aback by the title. He hadn't heard it in a long time. He knew what Tony was doing, trying to intimidate the Chief. It was classic. Did he still remember how to play that game? Steve approached the Chief's table and held out his hand, which Chief Ross accepted. The Chief's handshake was a little more forceful than necessary, but Steve was stronger than average. Nothing he couldn't take. He smiled without showing his teeth. "Nice to meet you, Chief. Thanks for having us."

The Chief pointed to the two chairs that were between the table and Steve and Tony. "Sit down," Chief Ross looked carefully at them, but stopped at Steve. "Thank you for coming so quickly, _Captain_ Rogers," the Chief emphasized Steve's title wryly. The Chief looked quickly at Tony. "And I see that you took my advice to bring a lawyer," Steve saw that Tony had smiled a petulant smile and held his own urge to laugh. "And not just any lawyer. The _famous_ Tony Stark ... I never thought I'd see you at my station. You came prepared for everything, Captain," Ross raised an eyebrow.

"I'm a forewarned man," Steve said only.

The Chief stared at Steve, with half-closed eyes, studying him, looking for a breach, a crack to enter. But he found nothing.

"Ahem," Tony cleared his throat exaggeratedly, drawing the attention of the deputy, who turned to him. "Chief, if it's not too much trouble, I would like to have access to documents regarding my client's arrest and Captain Rogers here would like to be able to see his son," he opened what Steve thought was his most convincing professional smile, made to persuade, not to warm, because his eyes didn't crinkle at the sides and there was no sparkle in them, just an objective to be achieved.

"Of course," Ross looked as if he had been shocked because he started to move, rummaging through the piles of papers and files on his desk, until he found a specific one, not too thick, and handed it to Tony. "Here it is. It's a copy. You can take it with you," Ross smiled without showing his teeth. "Courtesy of the house."

"How nice," Tony returned the smile, his words dripping with irony.

"As for you seeing your son, Captain," Ross turned to Steve. "I'm going to ask one of my men to take the boy to one of the visiting rooms. It won't take long," the Chief walked around the table and headed for the door. "I'll be right back," and so Steve and Tony were alone inside Chief Ross's office. Before the two could exchange a word, Ross returned and stood at the doorframe, holding the door open. "You two can come."

Steve almost knocked over his chair to get up quickly. He looked at Tony, who smiled at him and nodded that Steve could go ahead. Suddenly, Steve was hyper aware of where he was going, who he was approaching to. My son. _Peter, Peter, Peter._ It was like a mantra that attracted him.

"On your way back," Ross stopped them before they could continue. "We'll continue our conversation," Steve nodded without saying a word. Ross pointed to an approaching man. He was tall, black-skinned, with a rigid posture and all of him shouted seriousness and appreciation for rules. His eyes were fixed on Steve as he approached, and Steve had the feeling that the feelings in them were anger, disgust and contempt towards him. But the man's expression cleared when he saw Tony. Surprise, amazement, and bewilderment took over his features and Steve was sure the man knew his lawyer from somewhere else. The unknown man stopped in front of Steve and looked him in the eye.

"Ah, yes," Ross said. "Gentlemen, this is Detective James Rhodes. He is responsible for investigating the murder for which your son is being accused, Captain," Steve could hear the pride in the Chief's voice introducing his detective. It was disconcerting. "Detective, these are Captain Steve Rogers, Mr. Peter's father, and their lawyer, Mr. Tony Stark," Steve and Tony greeted the detective without speaking, just emotionless handshakes. "Detective Rhodes here is going to take you to Peter," Ross said. "See you later."

"Come with me," the detective said, turning and walking down a corridor flanked by some doors, until he stopped in front of one.

~

Steve's heart hammered in his ears, his hands were cold and his world threatened to turn to jelly, but he needed to be steady, a rock, a safe haven for his son, who, _ok, God in heaven, his son was behind that door._ The detective turned to look at them. "You have half an hour. And I'll be on the other side of the glass, seeing everything," he looked at Steve and then at Tony with raised eyebrows in warning. "Don't try to be funny," he passed them and entered the next door, closing it behind him.

Something was going on there, but Steve didn't have time for that. Not at that moment. Now, he had more important things. Much more important things.

"Are you ready?" Tony asked.

"I am," Steve blew out a breath and grabbed the door handle. Peter was behind there, waiting for him. Afraid, scared, needing him. More than ever. _Dad is here._

"Then go," Tony smiled. "Go there and take care of him. I _will_ take care of you."

Steve lost his breath again with the sweetness in Tony's expression and words. Did he remember what it was like to be taken care of? Could he let it? Tony grinned, looking at the door handle, encouraging. And Steve knew that yes, he would be able to let Tony take care of his family. And with that huge revelation, Steve turned the handle, opened the door and his heart broke into a thousand pieces.

Peter was sitting behind an aluminum table, his hands cuffed and tied to the table, his shoulders slumped, his brown hair messy and ruffled to all directions, his clothes rumpled, his face sunken, downcast, his eyes - always so alive smart and curious -, they were swollen, red and listless. Steve had never seen his son look so sad and the boy had already passed through his mother's funeral. Steve's soul ached for his son. He felt himself shrink and be as helpless as ever. He had no power there. He couldn't take those handcuffs off and get his son out of there. He couldn't take away that sadness and emptiness from the most important person in his life. He wasn't that powerful. He wanted it so much, but he still couldn't.

Peter looked up when he heard the door open and Steve's heart broke a little more with the light that took over his son's features when he saw him arrive. He didn't deserve to be received with that joy, with that hope. He had nothing to offer. But still, Peter needed him. He needed him to be anything, _everything_ , as long as it helped Peter get through that situation. Peter stood up, uncomfortable, half reclined on the table, and looked Steve in the eyes with uncertainty.

And Steve knew. Steve knew that his son was afraid that his father was there to judge and blame him. Even with hope on his face, Peter was afraid that he had disappointed his father, that he would be disgusted. But he was anything but that.

Then Steve smiled. He managed to open the warmest smile, the one full of love and affection, the one that only Peter could take from him, and strode to his son, with open arms, so that Peter could see what Steve was actually doing there.

And when Steve finally wrapped Peter in his arms, when the boy allowed himself to collapse in his father's embrace and put out all the fear, shaking, sobbing and trying to shrink and hide in the curve of Steve's neck, everything seemed to fit together, going to the right places. Steve squeezed his son in his arms, as if to make sure he was real, stroked his son's back, his hair, and wrapped him up again, protecting him, even for a few moments, from everything that could harm his son. His boy.

"Dad, it _wasn't_ me," Peter sobbed and the words stumbled out. "I did _nothing._ "

"Shhhh, I know, my dear," Steve slowly circled his son's back, trying to calm him down.

"I would _never_ do that, dad, please believe me," Steve felt Peter's tears wet his shirt, but he couldn't be more relieved. His son was in his arms. And he knew Steve was there for him. They were going to get out of that situation.

"I know, my love. _I know,_ " Steve pulled away enough to hold Peter's face and looked his son in the eye. So much sadness in a face so beautiful, so smart and where there should only be happiness. "I came to help you," Steve wiped away a few tears, just to see his work ruined by the other tears that came soon after.

" _How,_ Dad? They said it's impossible, that I can't get out of this," Peter hid his face again on Steve's shoulder. He was devastated and Steve wished he could switch places with him.

"I brought help," Steve said, stroking his son's hair.

"Help? Who?" Peter looked at Steve, trying to control his body's tremors.

Steve turned Peter gently towards the door and pointed at Tony, who had been incredibly quiet all that time. Tony smiled and waved at Peter and Steve's heart was extremely grateful that Tony was such a nice and kind person.

"Hi, Peter," Tony greeted.

"Son, this is Tony Stark, your lawyer," Steve introduced. "Aunt Natasha sent him to help you."

Peter's eyes widened and Steve couldn't help but find it adorable. His son was too incredible and too sweet to go through with all that.

"Did _Aunt Nat_ send him?" Peter asked Steve.

"That's right," Steve agreed.

"You must be amazing for her to personally send you," Peter said to Tony.

Tony laughed softly and shrugged. "I try."

"So can you help me?" Peter was still looking at Tony curiously.

Tony approached the table and sat in one of the available chairs. Steve pulled the other one closer to where Peter was forced to stay because of the handcuffs and continued to hug his son. He would enjoy being around Peter for as long as he could. And Peter didn't seem to mind, because he was accommodating to the curve of Steve's embrace, taking over the space that had always been his.

"I _can_ and _will_ help you," Tony said, taking a paper out of the briefcase. "For that, I need you both to sign the contract agreeing to my services and the confidentiality of our working relationship," Tony slid a sheet of paper towards Steve and Peter, next to a pen and looked intently at Steve.

Steve scanned the document and found nothing extraordinary, so he signed and passed the pen to Peter, who signed it next to Steve's signature.

"Very well," Tony put the document in his briefcase and placed the file that Chief Ross had given him on the table. "While you were talking, I sent the details of this here to my office, and my associate is trying to contact a judge here in Boston to get you out of here today," he looked at Peter, who was paying attention to every detail. "As I already explained to your father, unfortunately I cannot promise that we will actually take you home today. It all depends on the judge accepting our release request. However," he looked at Steve and Steve didn't like what he saw in Tony's face. "With the appearance of your DNA at the crime scene, the police already consider the case to be solved."

"But I didn't do anything!" Peter shouted. "Dad," he looked at Steve desperately. "Dad, _I didn't kill that boy._ We _never_ spoke, I didn't know him!" He looked at Tony. "Mr. Stark, _I am not a murderer._ "

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't believe it," Tony said calmly. "But the police don't believe you and your DNA there complicates things a lot. But it doesn't make them impossible to be resolved. You just said you didn't know the boy. That's important. I'll start setting up your defense from there," Tony took out the notepad in the briefcase and started writing on it.

"Wait a minute," Steve asked. Tony stopped writing and looked at him, waiting. "What do you mean, 'setting up his defense?'"

"Your son is on trial for the murder of that boy, Steve," Tony said without emotion, but his eyes betrayed him. They were filled with pity. And compassion.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An entire chapter by Tony's POV.
> 
> We'll know how Tony and Rhodes know each other, how Tony and Natasha are related, and we'll also have Tony and Peter talking alone for the first time.
> 
> Our favorite lawyer is beginning to unravel the mysteries behind the murder and to understand why Peter is, in fact, innocent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone!
> 
> Here's the new chapter! I hope you like it as much as I like writing it (spoiler: my favorite part is Tony and Nat's talk. You'll see 😉
> 
> Also, some people asked me if I already watched the first episodes of Defending Jacob. Aaaand no. I haven't watched it yet because I don't want to be influenced by what happens in the series to write this story (although I already know what happens in the book). So, as soon as this story of mine ends, I'll be there to watch the series!
> 
> Well, I already talked a lot. You can go read now 😄
> 
> See you soon! Enjoy!

They returned home without Peter.

Tony tried to buy as much time as he could while they were at the police station, asked all the questions he could ask the annoying Chief Ross, ignored the fact that some of them he didn't even need to ask, after all, he was Tony Stark, the famous criminal lawyer from New York, capable of solving seemingly impossible cases. But even then, he tried everything. All to buy time for Pepper, who was running out of time and against logistics, and was trying to find a judge friendly enough to let the boy spend his days until the trial at home. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Peter would spend the night at the police station until his transfer to a penitentiary was promulgated by the prosecutor's office - or until he and Pepper managed to get him out.

The drive back home from the police station was tense and silent, and Tony didn’t try to cheer the mood up. He knew that a lawyer goes through tests. A good lawyer goes through some of them virtually unscathed. A great lawyer doesn't even feel like he's undergoing tests. But one thing all lawyers knew: you don't fail the first test, whatever it is. The circumstances of each process determine what your first task, your first battle, will be. If you win, you show everyone your shiny and competent armor. If you fail, your armor shows its breaches and failures. And Tony had failed his first test. He had failed Peter and Steve.

He allowed himself to look discreetly at Steve, who was driving home in silence, but his calm, neutral facade was belied by a pulsating vein in his neck and clenched jaw. Tony looked away to see the Boston landscape through the window. He would do anything to make up for that first failure. He had been sent here for a reason: he was the best. He had a reputation and would prove that it wasn’t in vain.

They stopped and Tony realized that they had arrived at Steve's house. _My home for the next few days._ He still wasn't sure why he had accepted Steve's offer. It wasn’t normal, not at all common, for something like this to happen. _In fact, this is the first time._ But Tony could only look at Steve's smile and wish he knew how to make that smile stay there. At that time, the solution was to say 'yes'. _And here we are now._ They went up the steps that led to the front door, Steve unlocked it and they entered. It was late afternoon, and the house was dark. Steve stepped in first and went on to turn on the living room and kitchen lights as he passed through the rooms. Tony realized that he didn't open the curtains.

"Get your things," Steve said - the first words since they left the station - pointing to Tony's suitcase by the door. _He's going to send me away,_ Tony thought. _Nothing more fair than that. Who would let the incompetent lawyer sleep under his own roof?_ Then, with a sigh, Tony grabbed his suitcase and prepared for what was to come, the next blow. He looked at Steve and thought about what to say. "Come on," Steve called, interrupting Tony's line of reasoning. "I’ll show you your room."

Tony was taken aback, not knowing what to say or think. But his body was more lucid, so his legs followed Steve down a short corridor, just to Tony's left, and stopped by a door on the right. Steve opened it and showed the room: a double bed right in the middle of the room, with clean, soft sheets and fluffy pillows, a small wardrobe against the opposite wall, a nightstand beside the bed, a door leading to a bathroom stocked with towels and soap, a large window overlooking the city, and below it a desk with a chair.

"It's not a five-star hotel," Steve said, apologizing. "But it's comfortable, the kitchen is right next door and you can have your privacy," he shrugged. "Peter's friends usually sleep here when they come for the weekend," Steve had a wan smile, his eyes glassy, as if he were reliving a memory. But the moment passed and he quickly composed himself.

"Steve, it's great," Tony said, putting the suitcase on the floor. "It's better than a five star room. It's your home. There's family in every corner of this place," Tony smiled. "I couldn't feel that warmth even in the best hotel in the world." Tony saw that Steve turned red, but he wouldn't rectify a word. It was all true. Everything in that house screamed love, affection, family. Things Tony didn't know what they were in a long time.

"Thanks," Steve said, embarrassed. "Make yourself at home. We don't have fixed hours, so make yourself at home to make your own, walk around the house, whatever you want. There's food in the fridge, the stove and the microwave are yours for whatever you want. In the living room, TV control is also free, as long as you arrive first," Steve smiled. "If you need me, I usually read and draw upstairs, in my room, or in the garden, outside. You can find me in my studio, which is up there, too. Just call me."

"Okay, I think I understood everything," Tony said. "I'm free to create my own rules, right?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Steve agreed. "I want you to be comfortable here."

Tony didn't know what to say. How could someone like Steve exist? So he just smiled and agreed. "I already do. Thanks, Steve."

"Well, so that's it," Steve shifted, looking suddenly uncomfortable, and headed for the door, stopping under the doorframe. "I'm going upstairs, take a shower, try to clear up."

"It does very well for the nerves," Tony tried a smile. Steve smiled back and left the room, disappearing down the hall. Tony let out the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding and closed the door behind him. He took a look around the room and started to unpack. He hung up the other two suits and shirts he had brought on the hangers he found inside the wardrobe, arranged the rest of the folded clothes in the two inner drawers of the furniture and left the shoes outside, against the wall. With his suitcase unpacked, the day finally fell on him, and Tony allowed himself to feel the tiredness and tension he had been ignoring for longer than ideal. "I need a shower. And something to eat." Tony took off his clothes, folding them and leaving them on the suitcase, took his bag and went to the bathroom. A bath had never felt like such a luxury. He let the hot water from the shower lick his aching muscles, undoing some of the tension knots, before washing his hair with shampoo and his body with the new soap he had brought.  
In the end, Tony wrapped himself in one of the clean towels left there by Steve and chose sweatpants and a red T-shirt, after all, Steve had told him to feel at home. And there is nothing more "feeling at home" than sweatpants and T-shirts. Tony dried his hair, and combed it with his fingers, letting it finish drying naturally. Without worrying about shoes, Tony left the room and went to find something to eat.

He went down the hall to the kitchen and found himself alone on the first floor of the house. It was all open concept, with the living room just ahead, with two comfortable sofas, a coffee table, a large TV and a video game below it, with two controls. Tony smiled, imagining Steve and Peter sitting there, playing together. Shaking his head, Tony headed for the kitchen, which was on his left. The cabinets and the island were very bright, with marble surfaces. Everything was meticulously organized, and Tony almost felt bad for looking for the things he needed, if it weren't for his stomach growling, asking for food. "I don't eat in what? Twelve hours?" Tony asked himself out loud, opening the refrigerator and analyzing its contents. He decided on some potatoes, chicken fillets and tomatoes. He hadn't cooked in a while, but he still remembered what it was like.

He looked for the right pans, turned on the stove, put the potatoes to cook in one of the pots. Meanwhile, he started to prepare the fillets. The temptation to make just one serving for him was great, but he was not alone in that house. In fact, _he_ was the visitor. It was his duty to do enough for his kind host. Then Tony seasoned the chicken fillets with salt and pepper and a little lemon and left them to fry in butter, while mashing the potatoes to finish his mashed potatoes. With the puree and the fillets ready, Tony chopped the tomatoes, seasoned with salt and oil and placed everything on the island in the middle of the kitchen. He found the plates and cutlery and organized everything. Should he call Steve? Would it bother him? What if he was sleeping? What if he was drawing? Tony didn't know what to do. So he decided on neutral, and helped himself. Fate could do the rest.

It didn't take long for Tony to hear footsteps coming down the stairs next to the kitchen, and soon Steve appeared, looking not exactly better, but more cheerful. Tony was in the middle of a sip of water and took the opportunity to take a quick look. Steve was a gorgeous man. No, scratch that. Steve was an _extremely handsome_ man. Tall, slim and muscular, but not overly exaggerated, just enough to fill in a uniform in the right places to show grandeur, or casual clothing to make the mouths of mortal pals water. His skin was pale, almost pink on his cheeks, as if he was always embarrassed by something. It was cute. His hair was of a dark golden color, which reflected the light when he moved. His features were symmetrical, straight nose, mouth designed with full pink lips, which were beautiful when smiling, amazing azure eyes, that shone with every emotion Steve was feeling, and everything on his face was smooth, although he had been in the Army for years. And Tony almost choked on his water when he saw that Steve was wearing clothes very similar to his own, gray sweatpants and a navy blue T-shirt, leaving his arms exposed. And, damn, what arms.

Tony knew he was there for strictly professional reasons and that it'd be extremely unethical of him to say anything but Peter's case. But he wasn't blind. And definitely not straight. There was no way to be indifferent to a handsome man like Steve and not allow himself to steal a few looks. Tony knew that he'd never, even under other circumstances, stand a chance with Steve. He had already been married to a woman and had a child with her. Not that it was any kind of a sentence, but Tony could feel that him and Steve would be nothing more than colleagues in this situation and after it was over, they would never see each other again.

"Are you okay, Tony?" Steve's voice called out and Tony remembered to look like a normal human being again and not someone who's watching the beauty of his new client's biceps.

Tony lowered the glass he had been holding for too long and smiled. "I'm fine, thanks," he pointed to the food in front of him. "I made dinner. I didn't know if you were coming down to eat something or not, so I made enough for both of us."

Steve looked at the set table and his expression was funny, a mix of astonishment, surprise and admiration. "I wasn't going to come down, to tell you the truth," he made a face, which ended with a smile, apologizing. "But I smelled it. So I came to see what it was."

"Oh," Tony felt his face heat up. "I'm sorry if I bothered you."

"No, no!" Steve was wide-eyed, his hands in front of him. "It didn't bother me at all. I meant that I came to see what it was because the smell was very good."

"Oh," Tony repeated. Steve apparently had the power to make him forget how to speak coherently. Tony cleared his throat. "Are you hungry? Sit down and eat some. You had a long day and, God knows when you'll be able to stop for another quiet meal."

Steve sighed and nodded. Tony placed a plate and cutlery in front of where Steve had sat, and Steve helped himself. The two were facing each other, one on each side of the island, sitting on their benches. They ate in silence for a while, interrupted only by Steve's "hmmm", which made Tony smile every time.

"You cook very well, Mr. Stark," Steve said when he was done. He smiled, satisfied.

"Why, thank you very much, Mr. Don't ever call me Mr. Stark again," Tony said, but he smiled back. It was an extremely domestic scene and, for any spectator who didn't know the context, they'd certainly never have imagined that it was a lawyer with the father of his client accused of murder, going to trial in the next few days. Or months. Who would know?  
Steve collected the plates and cutlery and put them in the dishwasher, went to one of the cupboards, took a bottle, two glasses and went back to his place on the island.

"You drink?" Steve asked Tony.

"Less than before, but yes, I still drink," he replied.

"Chill out," Steve said, smiling wryly as he opened the bottle. "I'm not going to get you drunk. I need you focused."

"Don't worry, Steve. I always am."

Steve poured some wine into the two glasses, and they drank in silence. They weren't uncomfortable, but Tony didn't want to be silent.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," Steve put his glass down and stared at Tony. It was kind of uncomfortable being so close and being the target of Steve's piercing eyes, but Tony was the famous Tony Stark, the lawyer who got it all. He wasn't going to tremble now.

"How did you and your wife meet?" Tony saw Steve swallow and soon regretted it. It was obvious that this was a sensitive subject and who did he think he was? They had met that same day - had it been that day? It felt like weeks ...- and he was already asking a question as personal as that. "Look, it's okay if you don't wanna answer."

"That's okay, Tony," Steve smiled. "It's a funny story. It'll do me good. In fact, you know, Peggy was the one who taught me that when we're going through an extremely difficult situation, the ones we don't know how to solve, the first thing to do is to take a shower and then a glass of wine. Then, yes, you can focus on your problem, because there'll be no other concerns inside of you. All of them were washed by water and wine. So you'll have space to give your full attention to your problem," and, to emphasize, he took another sip of the wine.

"It's a great advice, if you'll allow me to say."

"Peggy was very smart," Steve smiled, lost in thoughts, looking at the wine. "You asked me how we met, right? Well, she and I were friends with Sam, who joined the Army with me, while Peggy was still flirting with the idea. But even though we were soldiers and had very strict duties and schedules, we always managed to get the three of us out together. A while later, she joined the Army too and things were perfect, we were able to reconcile our schedules more easily and it was great. But we were just friends. Nothing romantic," Steve chuckled and took a sip of wine. "At least, _I_ thought nothing was romantic there. Everything was going very well, until another friend of Sam, sergeant like us at the time, not as close as our little trio, and my boyfriend at the time, was transferred to another base, on the other side of the country. And he put an end with our relationship before he went away. And I was devastated, because I thought he was the love of my life," Steve laughed and shook his head, as if he didn't believe in the idiocy of young Steve. "Well, you can judge me, I was young and I thought I had found my true love," he shrugged. "Anyway, this guy left and I was heartbroken. And then, on a beautiful day, Sam, Peggy and I had gone out to go to our favorite bar, because I wanted to drown my sorrows. At some point, it was just me and Peggy talking and I asked her why everything went wrong. And she told me that I still hadn't found the right person. I replied that I thought yes, for sure, that's why my heart hurt so much. And then she just turned and said _'but you haven't tried with me yet'_ ," Steve paused dramatically and looked at Tony, waiting for some reaction, but Tony was paralyzed. So Steve continued. "I thought she was crazy. And I told her that. After all, I had just broken up with a guy. _I like men, Peggy, what's wrong with you?_ She just laughed and asked why I couldn't give her a chance. If I didn't really like it, fine. No hard feelings," Steve shrugged and drank more wine.

When it looked like he wouldn't say anything else, Tony motioned for Steve to continue the story. It couldn't end like that. Steve laughed out loud. "So, since I had nothing left to lose, I gave her a chance. And I ended up very happy to have made that decision. We got along really well, in every way. She was my best friend, with who I could talk about everything, and we worked so well together that I saw that I could be a father if it was with her by my side. It was her who made me find the courage to bring Peter home and to realize that he's the center of my universe, especially because we both knew that she wouldn't survive long. With her I learned that I could be strong for me and for him. That I could be what he needed me to be," Steve swallowed. "That's why I left the Army when Peggy died. Peter had already lost his parents once. And he had just lost another mother. No one should lose their mother even once in their lives. He had already lost twice. I couldn't let him lose two fathers too." Steve breathed out slowly and finally looked at Tony and smiled a tired smile, but genuine and sweet, from someone who lived a good life, but with whom life liked to play bad things.

"I'm sorry that you missed Peggy so soon," Tony said.

"Thanks, but we both knew it wasn't a question of _if_ , but _when_. So we lived as long and best as we could, and we tried to do everything so that Peter was supported when she was gone."

Steve's face withered and the smile disappeared. Tony knew that expression. "Steve, you haven't failed your son. I know that's what you think, but it's not the truth."

Steve looked at Tony with eyes full of pain. "But that's how I feel, Tony. Just like that. I should protect my son, look after him. Instead, he's spending the night in jail, accused of killing a schoolmate. What kind of a father am I if can't I protect my child from _this?_ "

"You know he's innocent and you're doing everything in your power to help your son get out of there," Tony fought the urge to hold Steve's hand over the table. "I'm here to help. And that's what I'm doing. I promise. We'll get your son out of there and we will prove that he's innocent."

"Thank you, Tony."

"You already thanked me being kind and offering me your own home for me to stay. You don't have to say anything else," Tony smiled and suddenly remembered something Steve had said. "Actually, there is something you need to say, yes."

Steve refocused his attention on Tony. "What is it?"

"In your story you said you had a boyfriend," Tony tried not to look too excited. "What did you mean, you had a boyfriend?"

"Of everything I told you about _that_ was the detail you got attached to?" Steve had the most incredulous tone.

"I'm sorry, it's just ..." Tony struggled with the words. "Well, it's just, I never imagined you seeing other men."

Steve crossed his arms in front of the body and moved away from the island, leaning back on the bench. "Is that a _problem_ for you?"  
Tony felt his eyes widen. _Stupid! How could he be so dumb? It wasn't the most subtle approach, Stark._ "Steve, that's not what I meant. Please!" Tony had his hands flat in front of him, defending himself. "I think it's great that I have this information, because, well, it doesn't interfere with anything in our professional relationship, but I wouldn't want us to be uncomfortable with each other while I'm your guest."

"Where do you wanna get?" Steve's eyes were half closed, suspicious.

"I'm bi. You know, like in bisexual?"

"I know what you mean," Steve said, rolling his eyes. "If I wasn’t clear with my story, that's how I identify myself."

Tony clapped his hands, but the reasons were so varied that he could barely contain the excitement. "Glad we cleared things up, Steve. You know, I wanna be your friend. I mean, when this is all over. I think we can get along. And I don't want us to start a relationship without knowing the basics about the other."

"Is knowing my sexual preferences basic information?" Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, Steve," Tony smirked. "Nowadays, your sexuality is more important than your social security number," Tony drank the rest of the wine he still had in his glass, put the glass in the dishwasher and turned to Steve. "I loved talking to you Steve. And thanks, again, for letting me stay here. Good night."

And Tony left the kitchen, trying his best not to jump in excitement at the new information he had gotten during his little dinner with Steve Rogers, the best host he had ever had.

~~~~~

Tony woke up the next day not with the sound of the cell phone alarm ringing, but with a call. He fumbled around on the nightstand until he found his cell phone and saw that it was Pepper calling at seven thirty in the morning. Unusually early by his standards. Tony considered not answering, but the consequences would be too catastrophic. Pepper was an angel, but she should never be irritated. He cleared his throat and answered the call.

"Good morning, Pepper, my reason for waking up at seven thirty in the morning. What can I _try_ to do for you in my semi-conscious state?"

"I did it," she said on the other end of the line, her voice clean and clear, showing that she had been up long enough to be extremely efficient.

Tony rubbed his eyes and sat on the bed. "Pepper, let's start over, okay? My brain is suffering from caffeine abstinence, and it's _offensively_ early. I don't even know where I am."

"You are a guest at the house of your current client, who was kind to provide you a room, although this is not very orthodox, I would say," Pepper said and Tony could hear her typing on a keyboard. "And if I were you, I would get up as fast as my anesthetized brain would allow me, because my extremely competent associate got a judge in Boston to sign Peter Rogers out of jail."

Tony got up from the bed, but his legs got trapped in the blanket and he fell on all fours, letting his cell phone slide across the floor. _"Shit,"_ he kicked the blanket and crawled over to the phone. "Pepper?"

"What was that noise?"

"I got up from the bed."

"I won't even ask."

"Don't waste your precious time as a competent and wonderful associate commenting on uselessness, honey," Tony stood up and looked out over the window at the Boston view. 

"Tell me what I need to know."

Tony heard all the details that Pepper passed on to him and said goodbye, not without first spending all the amazing adjectives that he remembered to thank the wonderful person that Pepper was.

"I need to tell Steve!" Tony said on the way to the bathroom, to brush his teeth and take a quick shower. After changing, with a clean suit, combed hair and a neatly knotted tie, Tony left the room excited, eager to tell Steve the news. But when Tony reached the kitchen, he came across a note from Steve, telling him that he had gone for a run, but that he shouldn't be long. Run, huh? Well, Tony had to admit that that whole shape shouldn't be coming from nowhere, and that running should help, but what a horrible time for Steve not to be home. Tony went to the coffee maker and poured himself some coffee. It was at the ideal temperature and Tony was delighted with the bitter taste of coffee. And, God bless caffeine, his brilliant brain had an idea.

Steve's car keys were on the kitchen island. So, why not go to the police station and surprise Steve and enjoy getting to know Peter a little better? People didn't call Tony a genius for nothing. Before leaving, he took an apple from the refrigerator, ran his hands over the car key and left quickly, before Steve could return and spoil the surprise.  
Tony adjusted the GPS on his cell phone to take him to the judge's office that Pepper had managed to sign for Peter's release, and after getting the long-awaited paper, he headed for the police station, not far from there. As soon as Tony entered the police station, Tony ran into James Rhodes, the detective responsible for Peter's case.

"Now, now, good morning, Rhodey, my dear," Tony greeted with a petulant smile. "For how long did you think you could avoid me?"

Rhodes sighed, defeated. "I expected more than twenty-four hours, but apparently, I'm not that lucky."

Tony's smile grew. "You know, I hadn't come over here to speak to you specifically, but since you appeared so kindly in front of me, I need to talk to you."

"We can go to my table."

"Rhodey, don't pretend to be the idiot you're not. It's not a role you know how to play," Tony patted Rhodes sympathetically on the arm. "We need to talk out of here."

Rhodes rolled his eyes. "Can it be later?"

" _Now,_ Rhodes."

Rhodes sighed, defeated. "There's a cafe nearby, less than two blocks. We can go there," and seeing Tony's suspicious expression added, "There's where I go when I'm not Detective Rhodes. So it's safe, don't worry."

"Okay," Tony nodded in agreement. And then he realized a detail. "Are we going to have to _walk_ there?!"

Rhodes smiled. "It's only a couple of blocks, Tony. Your legs aren't gonna fall off and leave you behind."

Tony made an indignant noise with his mouth. "How absurd. Just because I prefer motorized vehicles it doesn't mean that I'm aversed to walking," Rhodes raised an eyebrow at him. Tony winced. "I'm going to make the sacrifice, but let it be recorded in the annals of posterity that I was against going by walking. I feel personally attacked."

"May I know how you got here?" Rhodes asked when they were already outside the police station.

"I borrowed Steve's car." Rhodes didn't need to know that Steve didn't know about this loan.

Without saying anything else, the two walked the few blocks to the small and charming cafe that Rhodes had talked about and soon a waitress came to serve them.

"Good morning, Mr. Rhodes," the girl greeted with a smile. "Are you going to order the usual?"

"Yes, Mary, the usual for me, and a double espresso for my friend here, please."

"Immediately, sir. If you need anything, you know, just call," the girl, Mary, went back behind the counter to take the orders and Tony turned to Rhodes.

"You come here a lot, don't you?

"A little."

"Enough to know the waitress' name and have a regular order."

"What do you want from me, Tony?" Rhodes crossed his fingers on the table and stared at Tony. He was very different from when them studied together at the Law School at Harvard. They continued to defend people when they finished college, but Tony became a lawyer and Rhodes a detective. Who would say that'd be the turning of events.

"First of all, I wanted to apologize to you, Rhodey," Tony said.

"Apologize?" Rhodes frowned, not understanding.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I know you didn't expect to see me yesterday at the police station and I didn't expect to see you there either, especially as the detective in charge of my case," Tony was interrupted by the arrival of the waitress, who brought a cappuccino to Rhodes and the double espresso for him. After she left, Tony took a sip of his coffee - _delicious_ \- and looked back at Rhodes. "I should’ve paid more attention to where I was coming when I accepted the case, but it didn't even cross my mind that you could be involved in any way."

"Tony, you don't owe me an apology for anything," Rhodes said after a long sip of his cappuccino. "By the way, if you knew I was involved, would you have dropped the case?" Rhodes smiled.

"No, I wouldn't," Tony admitted. "And it's an injustice that you know me so well."

"So, no apologies."

"Thanks."

Rhodes drank some more of his coffee. "You said you didn't pay attention to where you were coming. Does that mean you came in a hurry?"

Tony looked around, but they were alone in the cafe. There was no one to snoop on. And he could trust Rhodes. "I'm here as a favor."

"A favor?"

Tony nodded and took a sip of coffee, for the simple pleasure of taking a dramatic break. "A favor for Natasha."

Rhodes' eyes widened. "When you say _Natasha,_ do you mean the same Natasha that I'm thinking of?"

"Exactly."

"Why?"

Tony blew out a breath and leaned across the table, crossing his fingers. "Two days ago she called me saying that the Boston police were investigating the murder of a boy and that this investigation had been going on for a few weeks, without any advance. The news is that she had heard conversations that the investigation was about to change and be solved. When I asked how it would happen, she was unable to tell me, but asked me to stay on standby if she called again," Tony stopped to check the surroundings again. Too much care? Never. "A few hours later she really called me again and told me that the case had gotten an important clue, the DNA of a suspect, in good condition, directly at the crime scene. When I asked her why she cared about it, she told me that the owner of the DNA sample found was her godson and that he wasn’t the one to blame and she was absolutely sure of that. I tried to argue that she had an intimate relationship with the boy and everything we can use as a counterpart argument, but she was convinced: it hadn’t been the boy, and then my biggest shock came: she asked me for a favor, a very big and old favor. The only bargaining chip she still had with me. Then I had two certainties, Rhodes."

"And what were they?" Rhodes was still wide-eyed and listened to Tony's story with his mouth open.

"First: the boy _was_ innocent, because if Natasha puts her hand on the fire for someone, I do too. Second: if she used the favor, she had with me to ask me to come here to defend the boy, the case was _very important._ So important that I got here as fast as a human being would be able to get."

"Well, that explains why you didn't remember that I work in the city," Rhodes said.

"But here’s the thing, Rhodes," Tony said. "Natasha told me on the phone that her godson's DNA was planted at the crime scene and, even if she hadn't told me about it, let's call it her _suspicion_ , I’d still suspect something like that. Do the math with me, Rhodes: how a murder case, which has been investigated extensively for weeks, with no progress, suddenly there's a turnaround with a DNA sample being found at the crime scene that has already been investigated ten thousand times?" Tony leaned further on the table. "How has no one ever found this DNA before, Rhodes? Was the CSI so incompetent? Or was the evidence really planted there by someone with other interests? And if the evidence was really forged, how did the case supervisor know nothing?"

"Tony-"

"Come on, Rhodes, tell me, what am I not seeing here? Which piece is still missing from my puzzle?" Tony felt his entire body vibrate. He couldn’t conceive the idea that his friend, best friend, perhaps, could be a corrupt policeman, forging evidence, or, at best, covering up someone else. It wasn’t a scenario that made sense.

"Tony, I took over the case two days ago," Rhodes said, looking Tony in the eye. "Probably, while Natasha called you, Ross was passing me the case. I know what you're thinking. And the DNA had already been found when I took over."

"But it doesn't make sense," Tony tried to connect the dots on his imaginary timeline, to no avail.

"The detective who handled the case from the start was waiting for a transfer to Maine to be closer to his family," Rhodes explained. "His wife had gotten a better job over there and Ross helped him getting there too. He left to Maine and left his last case open, and _I_ was the chosen one to take over. That's when you and the boy's father showed up at the police station. I'm still learning everything about the case."

"So it wasn't under your supervision," Tony said in a distant voice, lost in thought.

"No."

Tony looked at Rhodes and smiled. "Well, that puts us back in the game. What do you think, then?"

Rhodes shook his head, but smiled. He knew the friend he had. "What do I think of what?"

"The boy. Do you think he's guilty or not?"

"Tony, you know I can't-"

"Cut it out, Rhodey. It's just the two of us here, and if I remember correctly, when you're at this cafe, you're not Detective Rhodes, but the Rhodey-bear that we all love to love. So go on. Spill it out."

Rhodes sighed, defeated. "I believe in the boy's innocence. I don't think it was him."

"And why's that?" Tony couldn't hide his huge smile.

"For everything you have said and because I was watching the boy. He's kind and very intelligent. But not evil-genius intelligent. He's the hero-type kind of genius, who wants to help people. I talked to him."

Tony's eyes widened. "Really? And what did he say?"

"That he's innocent. That he’s never seen or spoken to the boy who died before. They just studied at the same school, Tony. They even weren't in the same year. They had no mutual friends, they didn't live close to each other. Nothing. Absolutely nothing in the history of Peter Rogers links him to the murder."

"Yeah, this is all in the file that Ross gave me," Tony said. "But I need a favor."

Rhodes shook his head hard. "No, uh-uh, Tony. I'm not going to be in trouble for you."

"Rhodey, as far as we know we have a corrupt cop in there forging evidence and trying to frame a sixteen-year-old boy for murder. So I don't trust Ross and anyone else in there, and I don't know how far I can ask them for things," Tony made his best lost puppy face. "I only got you, Rhodey."

Rhodes tried to look away, to pretend that Tony's gaze didn’t influence him, but in the end, his shoulders fell and Tony knew he had succeeded. " _Okay._ I'll help you. What do you need?"

"Of absolutely everything you can get about the victim's parents and about the victim himself. I want everything, names, registration numbers in every possible and imaginable official office, social media history, everything. Got it? Everything you can get for me, I need it."

"Do I have a deadline?"

"Yesterday," Tony smiled.

Rhodes sighed. "It's not easy being your friend, you know?"

"I know, and that's why I love you."

"Yeah, me too."

Tony took a note from his jacket pocket and left it on the table. "I gotta go. I have to get my client out of jail and surprise his father."

Rhodes frowned. "Doesn't the boy's father know that you came to take his son out of jail?"

"No. I want it to be a surprise. A way to make up for not getting it before," Tony shrugged and stood up.

"And after making the surprise, where are you going?" Rhodes asked when they were both outside the cafe. "What hotel are you staying at?"

Tony felt his face heat up. "So ... Well, I'm not in a hotel."

"Where are you sleeping?"

"Steve offered me his guest room and I'm sleeping there," Tony spewed out the words so fast he hoped Rhodes didn't understand. Unfortunately for him, his friend had understood very well.

_"Are you sleeping at your client's house?"_

"Yes."

"Do you realize how much that is-"

"Strange? Unusual? Unorthodox? A little unethical?" Tony cringed a little at each thought. "Yes, I know, Rhodes. I know. But you weren't there when he offered. You weren't swept away by his adorable smile. I took the whole hit alone and couldn't handle it. So now I'm the Rogers' newest guest."

"Are you _attracted_ to him?" Rhodes's disbelieving tone hurt Tony.

"No. Maybe," Tony looked away from Rhodes. "Just a little bit. But I _know_ how to separate things and you know it. I'm here because Natasha asked and I promised her and Steve that I would prove Peter's innocence. And that's what I'm doing. If in the process my eyes are blessed with small glances at a handsome man who happens to be my host and father of my client, is that my fault?"

Rhodes looked at Tony with apprehension, but also with sympathy. "Just be careful, okay?"

"I always am," Tony smiled, but he himself didn't feel the truth in his words.

"Wait a second," Rhodes said. "Does Steve know about you and Natasha?"

Tony's smile disappeared. "He knows what he needs to know."

Rhodes shook his head. "Tony, Tony, this is dangerous."

"They have already worked together, Rhodes. He let out that he met her during a secret mission on which they worked together, but it was all classified."

"So does he know?"

"I don't know how much he knows. He was in the Army, but that doesn't mean he knows all the secrets. And if he doesn't, I'm not going to tell him."

"Is it possible that he knows about you and her and everything else and is just waiting for you to slip?" Rhodes said when they arrived at the corner of the police station.

Tony turned to him, very serious, and looked at him. "If he thinks I'm the one to blink first in this game, he's very much mistaken. In this game, I'm an expert," Tony winked at Rhodes in a mischievous way. "I'm _always_ the last one to blink."

~~~~~

At the police station, Tony handed the judge's signed papers to Rhodes and waited for his friend to pick up the most important boy in his life at the moment. If something happened, he didn't even want to imagine what Natasha would do to him. A few minutes later, Rhodes returned with Peter and Tony was sure he had never seen a boy looking so miserable. He was even more dejected than the day before, his shoulders slumped, with deep, dark circles under his eyes, his lips dry, his skin pale and sickly looking, which only made his puffy and red eyes stand out even more. Peter Rogers looked like a zombie.

Tony walked over to meet them halfway and looked at Peter's hands, joined in front of his body by a pair of handcuffs that were clearly attached too tightly to the boy's fists, with the skin around them red and stuffed. Tony looked at Rhodes very seriously. "Get these things out of him." Rhodes looked at Tony as if to apologize, but he pulled a bunch of keys out of his pocket and freed Peter from the handcuffs. The boy rubbed his aching fists, and looked at Tony. "Thank you, Detective," Tony said, taking Peter’s backpack from Rhode’s hands. "We’ll talk again soon, I hope."

Without waiting for any confirmation from Rhodes, Tony turned his back and put a protective arm around Peter's shoulders. "Are you ready to go home?" Peter nodded and even tried to smile. For Tony, that was already a huge step forward. "So let's go. The car is parked outside." Before leaving the police station, Tony took a pair of sunglasses out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Peter.

"What's that for?" the boy asked.

"Let's be honest, you don't look like a Hollywood star," Tony said with a friendly smile. "Besides, even if your exit hasn’t been leaked to the press, you never know when a reporter might appear. We gotta be careful."

"Was the press here?" Peter's voice rose.

"It was."

"So they already know everything?"

"No, because not even _we_ know everything yet," they got to the car and Tony opened the passenger door for Peter, and went on to take the wheel. "But, yes, they already know that you’re the one they’re accusing."

Peter rested his head on his hands. "This is a nightmare." Tony started the car and left the police station parking lot without saying anything.

"Where's my father?" Peter asked before they even turned the corner.

"I wanted to come and get you alone to surprise him," Tony said. "And also because I want to talk to you."

"About what?"

"Well, first, know that I'm the newest guest in your house," Tony tried to look at Peter's reaction, but the boy's expression was just a raised eyebrow. Tony really expected more, but he could handle surprises. "Your dad offered your guest room for me to use while I'm here. Is that okay to you?"

Peter shrugged. "It was time for another adult to show up to talk to my dad. He’s been very lonely since my mom died, but he tries to pretend not to. But I have eyes, Mr. Stark. I know he needs friends who aren’t his teenager son."

Huh. The conversation was taking a totally unexpected turn, but one that Tony liked. "The second reason that made me want to come and get you alone was because I wanted to know your side of the story. Tell me, Peter, what's going on?"

Peter took off his sunglasses, folded his hands on his lap and sighed. "Everything’s been crazy, Mr. Stark. I woke up yesterday morning, went to school, met my friends and went to class like every day. I had even arranged with Ned to put together a Death Star lego set after class. It was gonna be incredible. But then in the break of the second class, our director came to my classroom and asked me to go with him. There was already a cop beside him. I didn’t know what was happening, but I went anyway. When I arrived at the principal's office, a guy that said he was a detective said I was going to jail for the murder of Jared Wolmur, a boy I knew only by name, because he was from the school athletics team," Peter stopped to take a breath. The words stumbled out of him, and he spoke quickly, as if his reasoning was too fast for his mouth to follow. Tony understood perfectly and that made him feel a connection with the boy. They were similar in a way. "But I could _never_ have killed Jared. We never spoke. _Ever._ I’m part of the academic decathlon team, he was part of the athletics team. He was a year older than I am and he had friends who weren’t friends with me or my friends. We never even took classes together, Mr. Stark. I don't even know where he lived. How could I have killed someone I didn't even know? Why would I have a reason for that?"

Peter looked directly at Tony, who was still driving, following the GPS instructions. But Tony did his best to return Peter's gaze. "I understand you, Peter. And I believe you. It all makes a lot of sense. I see no reason why you killed this boy. But the police think that there’s not only a reason, but they’re sure it was you."

_"But it wasn't me, Mr. Stark!"_

"I'm already investigating everything that can be investigated about that Jared's family. I heard they are no longer living here."

"They moved out the city, but it was news that ran little through the school hallways. Jared left the athletics team, but we soon had a spring break and, on the way back, no one really missed him."

"But their house was left open so that the crime scene could be investigated, because that's where they found the body."

"Do you think the Wolmurs might have something to do with this?" Peter's eyes were wide. "But they left the city."

Tony was impressed by the boy's quick thinking. "Yes, that’s an inconvenience. But we have to have several lines of thought if want to find the one that’ll be the most solid and the most efficient to prove your innocence."

Peter was thoughtful. "I see. What's the next step now?"

"Now I'm going to talk to some people, search some files and see what I can find out until the date of your trial is announced."

"I can help," Peter said, suddenly excited. "I’m very good with technology. I can get into almost any system you need.”

Tony smiled, he himself excited by the boy's excitement. "As tempting as the offer is, you’re already being accused of one crime. We don't want you to be accused of another, right?" Tony saw Peter's expression wither and he felt terrible. "Look, I know you really want to help solve your own case, but the best thing for you now is to be quiet at home, without making a fuss, okay?"

"Okay," Peter said in the world's most disappointed and sad voice.

Tony parked the car. They had finally arrived at Steve and Peter's house and Tony saw Steve outside, holding a sponge and with a bucket at his feet. On the wall behind him, the letters RER were still visible. Tony and Steve's eyes met and Tony understood immediately. The news had spread. The entire city now knew that the son of the Army Captain and now a famous artist was on trial for murdering a schoolmate and was coming to show its nastiness. To graffiti "MURDERER" on the wall of their house was probably the first step.

Tony turned to Peter, who was looking out with an empty expression. "Hey, Peter," and when Peter turned around, Tony wished he were more than a lawyer, and that he could hug Peter, help him in ways that the laws can't. The boy's eyes were pure sadness and bitterness, feeling a guilt that wasn’t his. "I know it seems impossible, but you really need to be strong now. From the door out, you need to be a rock, an example of impassivity. If you want to fall, scream, be vulnerable, be it. But be it here inside your house. Let this be your sanctuary, together with your father. The world doesn’t deserve you, Peter. But you don’t allow this world to crush you," Tony put his hand over Peter's and squeezed it. It wasn't a hug, but it would do. "And I’ll be here to help you."

"Thank you, Mr. Stark."

Tony smiled. "Come on. Your dad’s waiting for you."

They got out of the car and Peter ran to find Steve. Tony stood next to the car, watching from a distance, giving them both the best privacy possible. It was a beautiful and extremely sad scene to see. Steve wrapped Peter in his arms and leaned over his son, trying to protect him, hide him from the world so cruel and insensitive that had turned against that kind boy. Peter hugged Steve by the waist and Tony noticed that his shoulders were shaking. It was all so unfair. A boy shouldn't go through any of that. A father shouldn't feel helpless when his son needs help. A lawyer shouldn’t be attached. Despite all the "shouldn'ts", there they were, reversing all the roles, with the boy being put on trial for a crime that he certainly hadn't committed, his father completely lost and finding himself in a situation for which no training had never prepared him for, and the lawyer was already emotionally attached not only to the case, but to those two human beings, who made him feel only himself, as he had not felt for a long, long time.

Steve looked up and Tony wasn't quick enough to look away and pretend he wasn't looking. They stared at each other for long seconds and Tony wasn't sure what he was seeing there. There was certainly all the pain and despair for the son he embraced, but Steve's gaze also carried another feeling, deeper information, more difficult to reach. Gratitude? No. He had already said several times that he was grateful that Tony was there. Shame? Probably not. Tony had already seen Steve in one of his worst moments, when they had still exchanged a few words and that only brought them closer. Tony then wondered what Steve might be seeing back, what was Tony's gaze denouncing? Would it be as obvious to him, as it was to Rhodes, that Tony fantasized about the idea of them trying to go out together after the trial was over? Was Tony letting out that his interest there ended up being more than just professional? No, it couldn't be, right? He knew how to hide better than that. As a precaution, it was best to prevent Steve from keep seeing whatever Tony's eyes were giving him. Then Tony blinked, pulling them both out of the trance and walked over to where Steve and Peter were.

"I think you better get in."

Peter looked at Tony with red, wet eyes. "You saw what they did there, didn't you?"

"I did," Tony took a quick look at the graffiti Steve was finishing cleaning when he and Peter arrived. The ER letters were still visible. Tony blew out a heavy breath. "That's why I think you should go in. There's more where that came from. This is just the beginning," and seeing the panic in Peter's eyes, Tony moved closer, speaking quietly, as if they were being watched. "For this to end as soon as possible and for you to get back to your normal life, we need to move," Tony looked at Steve, who nodded.

"Let’s go, son. We'll take you inside," Steve said, guiding Peter through the entrance to the house. "You're going to take a shower, eat something and rest in your bed," Steve smiled and Tony wanted to give him the Best Effort Award for that attempt.

"But I want to help, Dad," Peter said, when the three of them were already inside the house, with the doors and windows closed and locked. "You know that I can be useful."

Steve thought for a while, biting his lower lip and making Tony think a little more than he should have, going in ways not recommended for PG-13. No. Definitely, after seeing Steve bite his lip, Tony went on an exclusive route rated R, with huge NSFW signs.

"I know you can," Steve said, finally. "But you're in no shape to do anything right now," and that must be the voice Steve used when giving orders in the army, Tony thought. It was serious, authoritative, and impossible to contest. And with goosebumps going up his spine, Tony kept going down the NSFW path. "What you’re going to do," Steve continued. "It's going up to your room, taking a hot shower, coming down to eat whatever-your-dad-will-cook-in-record-time and go to rest."

With a grunt, Peter disengaged himself from Steve's embrace and headed for the stairs. "Fine. I'm going," he stopped at the bottom step and pointed a finger in the direction of Steve and Tony. "But I wanna help," and with that, he disappeared in the direction of his own room.

Steve sighed. "I'm sorry about that. He doesn't usually behave like that," and headed for the kitchen.

"Steve, this is completely normal," Tony said, following Steve and taking a seat on one of the benches around the island. "The boy’s on trial for murder. How do you think his head is right now?"

Steve had finished washing his hands and, without bothering to dry them, opened the fridge to take a selection of vegetables and put them all on the island to chop them.

"I know that his head, that his life, turned inside out in less time than anyone would consider possible," Steve said placing a cutting board on the island and placing an eggplant there to slice it. "But I wish there was a way to reach him right now, you know? I wish there was a way to show him that he’s not alone and that this isn’t just lip service."

Steve continued to cut the eggplant into slices and after finishing, and placing the slices in a bowl, he took an Italian zucchini and started the same process again. "Steve," Tony said, as he watched, mesmerized, at Steve's work. "Peter knows you’re here if and when he needs it. But he needs time to process what’s going on."

"But how long?" Steve looked quickly at Tony between slices of zucchini and slices.

Tony shrugged. "Who knows? But we need to respect his time, Steve. When he wants, he'll come looking for you and go back to being what he always was."

Steve finished slicing the zucchini and started slicing peppers. Tony was amazed by the scene in front of him. It had absolutely nothing special, but he just couldn't take his eyes off Steve holding the knife and his hand going up and down, up and down as the blade sliced through the vegetables.  
Tony realized that Steve was thoughtful, lost in his own ideas, while preparing ... well, while preparing whatever it was. But he couldn't bear to stay in a house with two introspective people. As Peter had said, Steve needed to talk. And Tony loved to talk. Well, only with those who suited him. And Steve was someone who suited him a lot.

"What are you going to do with all these vegetables?"

Steve smiled. "Ratatouille."

Tony's eyes widened. "Like the one the rat cooks in the cartoon?"

Steve laughed. "That's right," he turned and bent down to get a mold from the bottom cupboard, and Tony almost choked when he was hit by the glorious sight of Steve's ass turned to him. Tony could get used to that sight. _Take that, Pixar. Does your rat do that?_

"Lucky us, you're hotter than the rat," Tony said and, to his horror, Steve chose that moment to get up and make Tony realize that he had said it out loud. In a loud and dreamy voice. Tony was wide-eyed and Steve was as red as the tomatoes he had sliced moments before.

"Huhmmm ..." Steve tried, but he was paralyzed, looking at Tony, holding the mold in his hands.

"Oh, my God, Steve, I-I'm _sorry_ ," Tony tried to fix the damage. _Dumb, dumb, dumb._ "I didn’t mean that."

Steve blinked and put the mold on the counter, still looking at Tony. "You didn't mean that I'm handsome?"

Tony looked at him in disbelief. Wait, was that a smirk? " _No!_ " Tony said. "I mean, _yes!_ " _Wow, getting worse._ Tony took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. The great and eloquent Tony Stark, fumbled with his words. Who’d say. "What I meant was that I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable with my comment, that's all," Tony blew out a breath. He felt drained.

And, much to Tony's surprise, Steve Rogers, the bastard, smiled. "I'm not uncomfortable, Tony. It just caught me off guard," he started to arrange the vegetables in the pan - eggplant, zucchini, peppers, tomatoes, eggplant, zucchini, peppers, tomatoes. "I just didn't remember what it felt like anymore."

"What feeling?" Tony was numb.

"To be praised like that," Steve shrugged, took a bottle of olive oil and poured the vegetables, cubed them with parchment paper and put the mold in the oven. He turned to Tony and smiled the brightest smile since they met. "Thank you."

Tony opened and closed his mouth a few times and felt like a goldfish. He was completely unresponsive. What the hell had just happened there?

"If you don't mind," Steve broke the silence. "I'm going outside to finish cleaning that awful thing and then I'm going to take a shower. It must be enough time for the ratatouille to be ready for lunch."

Tony shook his head and tried to clear his throat, trying to get a sound out of him. "Be my guest. Ha-ha,” he tried to make a joke. What a terrible one. “I'm going to my room to take a shower, too. See you in a little while," and fearing to say anything else that could blow his brain, Tony went to his room. Without trying to think too hard about the fact that Steve hadn’t only been offended by what he had said, but had liked it, Tony took his shower - freezing - as fast as he could, after all, even though a part of him was loving it, this almost romantic comedy film plot that, apparently, was unfolding in parallel in his life at that time, he had far more important things to solve. He got out of the shower and went back to the room with just a towel wrapped around his waist, and then took out his cell phone to dial the second number on the direct dial. Two rings later, she answered.

"Romanoff."

"Hello, my dear," Tony said sitting on the bed.

"Now, now, I thought I wouldn't hear from you for a while. You used to be better, Stark."

"Yeah, and you used to call me for simpler cases to solve."

Silence on the line. "What happened?"

"Rhodes is overseeing the case."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Interesting. But you didn't call me to tell me how good it was to see your old college friend again."

"Aw, Nat, you know me _so_ well," Tony could almost hear her eyes rolling over the other side of the phone. "No. This isn’t why I called."

"Spill it out, Tony."

"Rhodes also thinks that Peter is innocent."

"So what? We both already know that."

"So I found out that we have someone forging evidences in the police. And Rhodes is the only one there that we can trust."

"Humpf. As always."

Tony shrugged. "Another thing. Your godson is very smart."

"I know that," Tony could hear the smile in her voice. "But why exactly?"

"I talked to him and he came to the same conclusion as me: the Wolmurs may not be that innocent."

"Tell me more about that."

"Think with me, Nat. How does a family leave away and just leave the house behind? Even if a crime has happened there, and the police need the place for the investigation, it takes no more than a few days. The Wolmurs certainly would need the money from the sale or rent of the house to survive elsewhere."

"They moved to Pennsylvania after the murder."

"Believe it or not, I didn't have access to any personal information about any of the family members yet. Chief Ross gave me just the basics about Peter's arrest."

"That's why you called me, isn't it?"

"Yes. I asked Rhodes to get that information for me, but I know that by the means the police have, I’ll only get what I need when it’s too late. And I know I could ask Pepper too, but I don’t have enough time. I need you to do your magic."

Tony heard fingers typing furiously on a keyboard on the other end of the line. "I'm already working on it. Stay on the line."

"I'm not leaving here."

Tony waited a few minutes in silence while Natasha typed when something came to mind. "Hey, can you still, you know, multitask?"

"Isn't that what I'm doing _right now?_ "

"Yes, I'm sorry. But I wanted to ask you something else."

"Go on."

"Does Steve know?"

The typing stopped and Tony cringed, waiting for the blow. Instead, he heard a resigned sigh. "Not everything."

"What does he know?"

"Enough to _not_ ask questions," the typing sound started again.

Tony understood the hint, but he had no love for his own life. "He told me that you guys met during a mission."

Another sigh, this time irritated. " _Yes,_ we met during a mission, but he had his own agenda and I had mine. But we needed to help each other in order to finish what had to be done. He never knew what I was doing there and I never knew what he was doing there. I could’ve known, but I never wanted to."

"If he doesn't know, Peter doesn't know either, right?"

"No. But I was the one who taught him how to hack systems undetected. Believe him if he says he can do that."

"He already did."

"Then believe him. Let him help. No one will know it was him, because he learned from me."

"I'll remember that next time."

"Hey, Tony?"

"What?"

"Peggy knew."

Tony was silent, his brain going crazy. "What do you mean with, _'Peggy knew'_?"

"Before she died I told her and asked if she thought I should tell Steve and Peter."

"And what did she say?"

"She said no. That they were going to go through a lot already, and that they didn't need to know that Aunt Nat and Uncle Barnes were spies for an agency that, officially, doesn't exist."

"What do they think you do?"

"They think that we work for the government, in an intelligence office, so we can’t share information and that’s why we travel a lot."

"That excuse is horrible."

"Says the lawyer who works for us. Shut up, Tony."

"Dammit, Nat. This is crazy."

"I know. And I _hate_ not being able to tell. Mainly because I know that Steve, more than anyone else, would understand."

"You should tell."

"Maybe one day. But it won't be today, because today I have information for you."

Tony straightened his posture and pressed the phone to his ear. "Talk to me."

Instead of start saying whatever she found, Natasha went silent for some moments. Tony’s leg was shaking. "Nat, are y-"

 _"Oh, my God, Tony,"_ she interrupted him. "If this is all true, and you’re able to connect the dots in front of the jury, you solve the case and prove Peter's innocence."

"And I make Steve happy," Tony thought.

"I don't even wanna know why that came out, but if you want it to be like that, whatever," Tony facepalmed. Once again, he thought he had spoken to himself, but his own mouth betrayed him.

"I'm working on it, too."

"Why, see who's multitasking now."

"Shut up, Nat, and tell me how I'm going to prove your godson’s innocence."

"Well, Tony," Natasha paused dramatically. "Now’s the time for you to prove why you were the lawyer chosen by S.H.I.E.L.D."

**Author's Note:**

> Well, comments, constructive criticism, and kudos keep me alive!


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